


never have i ever (warped the fabric of space time)

by WhisperGrey



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fish out of Water, It's all a dream, Knight in Shining Armor Trope, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Magical Realism, Nightclub, OR IS IT, One Night Stands, Semi-Public Sex, Time Travel, but not really they're hidden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperGrey/pseuds/WhisperGrey
Summary: In 2014, Bitty hooks up with a handsome man who saves him from some unwanted attention. In 2019, Jack has an awesome dream after securing another championship for the Providence Falconers.These two events are absolutely not connected.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 14
Kudos: 250





	never have i ever (warped the fabric of space time)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the loose concept that Freshman Bitty did hook up with someone during Winter Screw but never mentioned it because the details were salacious. (Also that person looked like Jack. Because it was Jack.)
> 
> Enjoy <3

* * *

Jack touches his chest, unsure if this a hallucination or an extremely lucid dream, and feels the pounding bass of the club music resonating in his ribcage. He reaches up, finding a mask covering his eyes, and realizes this is some kind of masquerade, a theme night, and a quick glance around the bar leads his gaze to a familiar face.

It's Bitty. Or, a tiny, awkward, freshman version of Bitty with his floppy hair and huge, naive eyes, boxed in by several men twice his size clearly looking for more than a conversation. Bitty seems unaware of their intentions, and judging by his appearance this is one of Jack's fantasies involving a more courageous Junior year on his part.

And, dream or not, Jack's not letting this continue.

Jack adjusts his mask and squares up in the interlopers' eyeline, game face firmly in place as he bares his teeth. Bitty doesn't see anything at all, but one of the men notices him and lifts a hand in supplication, backing off and urging his counterparts to do the same. Bitty, confused, looks around for a reason for what's just happened, spinning right into Jack's bare chest with an adorable _"Oh!"_

* * *

_2014 - Boston_

Eric hadn't intended to make a gay bar the the first use of his newly minted fake ID, but he'd been staring at the wall of his dorm room after practice and thought, 'why not hop a bus to Boston proper and spend his Saturday night partying like a real boy?' 

That said, the look the bouncer gave him at the door gave Eric the impression he would have been let in without any identification at all, but that's a concern for another day. For now, Eric's surrounded by lights and sounds and a freedom he's never let himself imagine before. A burly man wearing a cowboy hat and offers Eric a sequined domino mask and tells him to _'get in the spirit'_. Someone offers to buy him a drink. Someone else jerks a thumb toward somewhere Eric can't see and winks. It doesn't take long for Eric's excitement to wane as he becomes overwhelmed by the sheer number of people paying attention to him, men who seem to want much more than to indulge Eric's polite questions.

Things finally turn when a large gentleman interrupts Eric's attempt to explain his checking problem with a curt, "Yeah, yeah, that's great, we fucking or what?"

Eric isn't sure what to do. He doesn't want to sleep with anyone. Especially not here, and definitely not with this man who's bushy mustache reminds him of Coach.

"Uh. No, thank you?"

The man's sneering response falls flat when he locks eyes on something behind Eric, raising a hand to indicate something before he backs off, elbowing his buddy and not bothering to spare Eric a parting look, grumbling instead about _'twinks'_. Eric turns to confront whoever is behind him, whoever just saved him from lord knows what, and plasters his face against a hard, hairy, slightly sweaty chest. Two strong arms come up to steady him.

"Oh!"

"You okay, bud?" The man repeats, concerned blue eyes shining from behind a dark mask covering half his face.

"Yeah, no, I'm," Eric clears his throat, trying to keep his eyes off the man's naked chest. "Thank you. Think I gave those boys the wrong impression."

"Yeah, this place is intense."

Blue Eyes reaches up to adjust Eric's mask, touch lingering, his fingertips dancing along the curve of Eric's cheekbones, down his jaw, hands finally settling gently over his biceps. "You're okay?" He asks again, with the barest hint of an accent that isn't Bostonian so much as — 

"Better now that you're here." Eric summons his courage, forces himself to stand tall, as much as he can when this man has a solid half-foot on him. Eric doesn't want to ogle, but the man carries himself like an athlete and he's built like all the boys Eric can't stare too long at in the locker room. Strong. Clean. Dark hair. Light eyes. Without thinking, Eric rests a tentative hand over the Stanley Cup tattooed on the man's pec. Blue Eyes doesn't pull back, just smiles, and between the club lights and his dark facial hair, his white teeth glow. Even with the mask, he's possibly the most handsome man Eric has ever seen, or, rather, the most handsome man Eric's ever allowed himself to be attracted to.

The man leans in close, "I'm a bit of a hockey fan," he explains over the sudden roar of house music, before covering Eric's hand with his own. _"You wanna go somewhere quiet?"_

"I think you're a bit of a hockey _player,_ " Eric breathes, certain BE can't hear him as he follows the man's ample backside toward a quieter hallway, passing more than a few couples getting frisky in the process. They find a small alcove, beneath a set of stairs to the loft — recently vacated by an extremely satisfied looking pair of men.

"What now?" Eric asks.

"What do you want?" BE asks, tucking in close, trying to guard Eric from prying eyes. "We can talk. Or something else. Just ask."

"Um," Eric grips at BE's arms. Eric never imagined having any first times in the back corners of a seedy nightclub, but in this moment he wants everything in the whole world, as long as this is the man to give it to him. "Maybe a kiss?"

BE smiles again, reaching up to brush a thumb over Eric's lips. "You're young," he says, without judgement. "Has anyone kissed you yet?"

Heat rises in Eric's cheeks and he shakes his head.

"Not yet. No one's wanted to."

"Now, I know that's not true," BE chuckles, lacing his fingers through Eric's hair to angle his head up. "Would you like me to be your first kiss, Bitty?"

Eric doesn't remember giving the man his name, but he's too excited to care. "Yes, please," he breathes. BE tugs off Eric's mask gently before sliding his own up into his dark hair; even in the dim light, Eric's breath catches in his throat. BE is a dead ringer for Jack Zimmermann. Older, yes, furrier, also yes, and the realization has his heart racing, blood flowing south to places that shouldn't be so interested in a man that looks this much like Eric's bully of a captain.

"Hi," Eric breathes as BE tugs him close to slot a thick thigh between his legs, offering a friction he didn't know he needed.

"Hey."

Eric closes his eyes, committing every sensation to memory, the sounds, the musk, the warmth of the man holding him — then, a brush of soft lips, the scrape of stubble, and Eric's first kiss is in the books. He doesn't pull away, follows his partner's lead, allows a foreign tongue to coax his mouth open as fingers tighten in his hair. Before he can think, they're moving together, BE's lips moving languidly over Eric's own as Eric's hips jerk against his thigh.

"Excited?" BE asks when Eric pulls away to take a breath.

"Oh, yeah, Sugar," the endearment slips out, probably too intimate for a club makeout session, but it doesn't seem to scare BE off. Rather, the man's expression grows fond, even bold, and he reaches down between them to brush his fingers over the bulge in Eric's jeans. 

"Would you like to knock another first off your list?"

"Oh. I mean. What do _you_ mean?" Eric leans back against the wall and watches the other man's fingers dance over his belt, occasionally grazing his nails over Eric's hidden erection. "I'm not really, uh, I don't want to f-fuck anyone tonight?" The larger man takes this information in stride, hands moving up and away from Eric's groin with easy acceptance, but Eric immediately misses the contact. "No, wait, I mean, I just don't want to do, uh, _that,_ tonight," Eric points to a room that could be the bathroom, but had certainly not been used as one when Eric wandered in earlier.

BE worries his lip, looks down at Eric, up at the negligible crowd milling around them, not quite paying attention, and asks, "Would you let me blow you?"

"You'd want to?" Eric swallows, throat suddenly dry. "I mean, sure, but you don't have —"

"Let me do this for you," BE says gently, voice nearly lost to the music. "Please?"

"Y-yeah," Eric swallows, watching BE drop to his knees, waiting for permission. "Yes. Please. I'd like you to do that. Um, blow me."

"Thank you for permission," BE grins up, not even looking as he unbuckles Eric's belt, slides his zipper down, and exposes Eric in a club where anyone could see. Where someone probably already has.

Nerves are the only thing keeping Eric from coming as he watches this unfairly handsome man swallow him down. He was close just rubbing against another man's thigh, the wet heat of BE's mouth is immediately too much sensation, his balls already (traitorously) seizing up. "I'm not — I'm not going to last," Eric warns, embarrassed. Eric can feel the man's laughter around his erection before something shifts and BE's nose is pressed against his pubic bone as he swallows; Eric gets a hand in the man's thick hair and whines as he comes, the jerking of his hips steadied by his partner's strong hands keeping him steady against the wall.

"That was so fast, I'm sorry," Eric apologizes the moment his breath is back, running his hands over BE's mussed hair. "Lord, we didn't use a condom. Do you need to spit or something? I'm so sorry —"

BE pulls Eric's hands down, clasps them tightly as he stands, laughter shaking his shoulders, "No worries, bud. I swallow," he teases, pulling Eric into a tight hug, tucking him close under his chin, and an exhausted Eric reaches up to touch the tattoo again, wanting to memorize everything about this man, when he realized there's writing on the cup. In white ink glowing under uv lights: _Providence Falconers 2016, 2019._ Eric runs his finger over the words, they stay put. He doesn't quite understand why this man would have a championship tattoo for seasons that haven't happened yet, but he's seen crazier dedication than a discrete blacklight tattoo. 

"Hey. Don't come back here," BE presses a kiss to the crown of Eric's head. "Plenty of nice boys at that college of yours. You deserve to share your first time with someone special."

"Would that be a nice someone like you?" 

BE laughs, a deep, kind, unfamiliar sound, before nudging Eric's chin up to steal another kiss.

* * *

_2019 - Providence_

Jack's pillow is soaked in drool and his boxers are sticking to his thigh, the mess his dream left tacky and pulling on his leg hair with an irritating familiarity. Good dream though. _"Bits,"_ he groans, rolling over onto his boyfriend with a soft 'oof' as he squishes the air out of his partner. "Bitty. Bittle. Eric. _Babe_."

Bitty groans and pushes himself off the mattress, dislodging Jack. "Oh my lord, _what_?"

"I just had the best dream."

"What might that have been?" Bitty yawns, tugging the comforter back over his head. "Was it worth waking me up at three am?"

"Yes." Jack sits up and shimmies out of his soiled underwear, kicking them across the room. "It was super hot. I think it was your first year at Samwell and saved you from a bunch of assholes at some seedy bar in Boston and then we made out and blew you in the back."

Jack's excitement wanes a bit at his partner's non-reaction, but after a moment Bitty tugs the comforter back down, exposing only his eyes and a suspicious furrow between his brows.

"You had a dream you gave me a blowjob in a nightclub?"

"Yeah."

"Why was that hot?"

"Remember when your hair was longer when you were a frog? You looked like that. You were talking to these dicks and I scared them off, and you said you'd never been kissed before, so I —"

Bitty throws off the blanket off and rolls right off the side of the bed. "Stay there," he orders, disappearing from Jack's limited sight.

"Bits?"

"Hold on."

Bitty returns with a small flashlight and holds Jack's shoulder steady before clicking it on and shining it over Jack's tattoo, revealing the UV ink hiding the writing on the cup base. Jack presses his chin to his collarbone, watching as Bitty licks his thumb and tries to wipe away the glowing white _Providence Falconers 2016,_ and the fresher, tender addition of _2019_ beside it.

"Did you tell him not to come back?" Bitty asks, still trying to rub away the ink. "That he should have his first time with 'someone special'?"

Jack tries to remember what he'd said, but the details are already slipping away by inches; not helped much by his boyfriend prodding his fresh ink."Ow. Maybe? I feel like I could have fucked you right there but that felt weird because he said no. You said no? Why?"

Bitty clicks off the flashlight and crawls back into bed with a contemplative energy that puts Jack a teeny bit on edge, except the furrow is gone, replaced by something almost content. "No worries, Sweetpea," Bitty smiles, rolling onto his side to rest his hand back firmly over the tattoo on Jack's chest. "Let's go back to sleep. Maybe I'll get to have a nice dream of my own this time."


End file.
